Page 77 of The River We Remember
“Why not?”
“I saw it from kind of a distance.”
“But you figured you knew what it was about?”
“Oh, sure.”
“The gas?”
“And more. That Bluestone, he was uppity. Moment he started working here for Jimmy, I knew it was only a matter of time.”
“How long have you worked for the Quinns?”
“Year and a half now.”
“Did you ever have a run-in with Jimmy?”
“Hell, everybody’s had a run-in with Jimmy. Nothing serious. Jimmy was the boss, so you always knew who was going to have the final word.”
“You ever think about throwing a blow at Jimmy?”
“And get my ass fired? You kidding?”
“Never had that deep burn in your gut, that hot voice telling you, the hell with it, just deck him?”
He studied Charlie, then he laughed. “Looking for another suspect? It ain’t me, Counselor. Brody Dern, he arrested the right man. Now if you’ll excuse me, I got me a job to do.”
He turned back to the tractor.
“One more question, Tyler.”
He removed the hose from the pump and began to fuel the John Deere. “Shoot,” he said.
“Jimmy had a taste for liquor.”
“No crime there.”
“You ever see him drunk?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Did he always drink alone?”
“Mostly. But on occasion he asked me to join him for a snootful out there in that little shack of his.” Creasy pointed toward a small ramshackle structure a hundred yards up the lane he’d just driven. “Jimmy wasn’t a sociable drinker, but everybody needs company now and again.”
“Did he ever invite Able Grange or Noah Bluestone to join him?”
“Hell, Grange doesn’t touch the stuff. Think he’s Mormon or something. And no way would Jimmy ask that redskin to drink with him.”
“What was he like drunk?”
“Depends. Drinking alone, he tended toward surly. But if he asked me to drink with him, it was usually cuz he felt like talking. Could talk your ear off then.”
“Did you ever see him out of control? Dangerous maybe?”
“Out of control?” He seemed to give it serious thought. “He was a big man. It’d take a lot of whiskey. So, I guess no.”
Charlie thanked him for his time, but he didn’t bother to acknowledge it or seem to note her departure in any way. Creasy, when she’d defended him, was a man like used motor oil. If you tried to get a grip on him, he slipped through your fingers, leaving you with the feel of grit and dirt and a desire to wash yourself clean.
